Plan A - Thursday, November 21, 2024.

The meaning of life is that it stops. — Franz Kafka.

Listening: Ghost by Badflower

I exist, that is all, and I find it nauseating. — Jean-Paul Sartre.

The plan has always been to kill myself before summer of 2025. Despite recovery, meds, and progress, that plan hasn't changed. I could die today if I really wanted to — after all, I have the means to do so — but life is not so intolerable right now. However, it will most definitely be come summer. I can make it through winter — I'll be able to weather winter break — and I can make it through spring, but under no circumstances will I allow myself to enter the hell, the pure mental agony, the absolute despair and isolation, of another summer. For me, summers are nothing but lethargy and depressing ennui, nothing but wallowing in my failures and mental illness.

Sure, summer doesn't last forever, but I don't care — because summer will just come back. It'll come back again and again and again and again, unending like a perpetual ghost, a forever demon. In any case, I'll be able to save myself from everything else beyond summer. It's not like my misery is just confined between the three months of spring and fall. I'll be able to save myself from dull pains of winter, the sad change of spring, and the painful nostalgia of fall.

I have a Plan A — but no Plan B, which is why Plan A has to work. If it doesn't, the alternative of living, of continuing to exist in my dreadful life, will be hellish. God forbid I go through another summer. God forbid I don't die.